I live in the countryside of southwest Michigan, not far from Lake Michigan, and I rarely have to go looking very far for inspiration. It is along the road. It is in the pasture. It is tangled in the fence line, growing beside the trail, standing in a ditch, drifting across the sky or landing in a tree. Wildflowers. Weeds. Seed heads. Feathers. Vines. Bark. Birds. Deer. Sticks. Stones. Insects. Weathered wood. Things most people pass every day. I am especially drawn to the plants we tend to dismiss as weeds. I like learning their names, their histories, and sometimes the traditional ways people have used them. That knowledge adds another layer of curiosity, but the first thing that catches me is usually visual — a shape, a vein, a strange little geometry, a color combination, or a pattern I had never noticed before. Then I take a photograph. And later I begin asking, What else is in here? That question has become one of the foundations of my work. I do not need spectacular scenery every day. I just need to keep noticing. And out here, there is always something to notice. These three already feel like the beginning of a real Field Notes voice: intimate, curious, and not overly polished. I especially like that they explain your art without sounding like they’re trying to explain your art.
I almost walked right past it. Sally and I were out on the trails when I noticed a mullein rosette growing low to the ground — soft, silvery green, perfectly arranged, and somehow impossible to ignore once I really looked at it. That is often how the work begins for me. Not with a plan. Just with something ordinary asking for a second look. I photographed the rosette, and later began playing with the image. I cropped it, repeated it, turned it, reflected it, changed the scale and watched new shapes begin to appear. One small plant became many pieces. Then those pieces became larger compositions. Mullein kept giving me more than I expected. I also love learning about the plants that grow wild around me. So many of the things we casually call weeds have long histories of traditional use and unexpected value. That makes me look at them differently too. But mostly, this one began because Sally and I were walking through the woods, and I stopped. Sometimes that is all it takes.